


the waves were our lullaby

by soldierwitch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierwitch/pseuds/soldierwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Centuries ago my people were renowned for their art," Bellamy’s mother says as he snuggles under her arm. "But it is their gods who have lived on through the sands of time."</p>
            </blockquote>





	the waves were our lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my friend, Aina, in light of a conversation we had about the invisibility of Filipino people on television. For those who don't know, Bob Morley is half-Filipino. I wanted to workout a way to incorporate that into a fic since the writers won't work in anyone's ethnicity into The 100.

"Centuries ago my people were renowned for their art," Bellamy’s mother says as he snuggles under her arm. A book is propped atop her rounding belly. Even in her own home she is cautious, a heavy jacket sets upon her shoulders waiting to be closed so she can conceal her pregnancy. "But it is their gods who have lived on through the sands of time." She flips through the slightly desaturated pages, explaining the different duties and abilities of the deities.

Bellamy listens in silent wonder, eyes widening as his mother reads, elaborating beyond the simple paragraphs in faded black ink. When she reaches a page of pale blue and green hues, Bellamy’s hand shoots out. He traces the swirls and dips of the water with the pads of his fingers. “Waves,” he whispers reverently.

"Yes," his mother says, bending her head to place kiss atop his unruly curls. "The waves of Poseidon. God of the sea. He was your father’s favorite. Though he referred to him as his people, the Filipino, called him: Amanikable."

Bellamy looks up at his mother. Questions about his father hover at the edge of his mind, but he holds his tongue. His mother rarely mentions his father beyond how much he’s beginning to look like him. Bellamy wants to know more but doesn’t want her to shut down like she always does when he questions her about his father.

"Amanikable," he says stumbling over the combination of consonants and vowels that sound as foreign to his ears as the names of the Greek gods and goddess his mother’s been teaching him. 

She nods. “My people prayed to him for safe journeys across the water, begging his mercy. When I told your father this he laughed. He said, “You don’t beg a god, girl, you bargain.”

Bellamy’s mother took a sharp breath in, lifting slightly off the floor. As soon as the pain passed, she turned to her son calming him with soft hushes. “It’s okay, sweet, your sister is just a little excited.”

"Sister," he whispers, settling on his knees, staring at his mother’s stomach.

His mother hums. “Yes, I believe this baby will be a girl. Now, come, sit back down.”

Once they’re situated, Bellamy’s mother picks the book back up. “To your father’s people, Amanikable, was a raging tempest battering their shores. Ill tempered and fickle, he could conjure violent crashing waves and lull them into gentle rolling ripples in the span of a breath.”

"He sounds scary," Bellamy says scrunching up his nose.

His mother chuckles. “A little yes. Power that great can be scary but wonderful as well.”

Bellamy looks up at his mother, allowing one question he has about his father to slip through his lips and settle between them. “Why did dad like Amanikable? He sounds mean.”

With a sigh, his mother puts the book down and pulls Bellamy closer to her side. Her fingers cards slowly through his hair as she tries to explain his father’s complicated thoughts in words Bellamy will understand.

"Your father and I come from people whose lives were shaped by the sea," she begins. "The ocean churns in our blood. He wished to be as unchecked and unrestrained as a hurricane. It’s hard to be confined up here when our home is on Earth. To him, Amanikable represented freedom. On the Ark, everything is chosen for you pre-birth. You have no choice. You’re born, you live, you die however they see fit."

"But you choose everyday," Bellamy says, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Aye, son, I do," says his mother. "I choose to have this baby. I choose to hide it knowing the consequences."

"For dad?"

She nods. “And for me. And for you. We make our own choices in life because we have the nerve to do so.”

"Like Amanikable," Bellamy asks.

"Like Amanikable," his mother says smiling sadly down at him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
